“—so I’ll break your neck.” She stepped forward, neck craning to glare me in the eye. “Useful in your line of business, right?”
I sighed. Distracted by Jordyn’s protective skills, Camdyn’s fist smashed into my mouth. My head snapped back.
“You wanna go, Braveheart!” Camdyn bellowed, already switching to Scots, fists wild.
I snarled, dipped low, and headbutted him right in the bridge of his nose. Blood sprayed. He stumbled, blinking away the darkness.
Brody body slammed Camdyn into the dirt from behind, making the ground shake. “I was always Braveheart, younumptynugget.” Then he rounded on me, growling, “Lach, you arse?—”
Splash!
Ice water drenched us.
We froze.
Leith stood a few feet away, head cocked, hands in his pockets like he hadn’t just dumped an entire Gatorade cooler over our fight. “You good now?”
He hadn’t carried the cooler alone. Next to him stood Natasha. The perfect LA girl. Dodger cap. Jeans. White tee. Converse All Stars, a bright orange that represented the battle against leukemia. Her eyebrow lifted. “Is this normal?”
“Aye,” Leith said simply, before heading for the picnic tables.
“Welcome to Fight Club: Highland Edition!” Camdyn hollered, while his wife, Willow, held a tissue to his bloody nose. Sisterlocks swept over a shoulder. She dabbed at his face and muttered for him to cool it.
Justice approached, brushing grass chunks from Little Brody’s beard. “Oh, baby …”
I wiped blood from my lip. Natasha extended her hand. Was I some wuss in the rom-coms she loved? I popped to my feet, took her face in my hands, pressed my lips to hers—hard. Arms wrapping around her, I deepened the kiss. Never wanted to let go.
She gasped, dizzy from the kiss, or maybe the chaos of watching us. Probably both.
She caused the same reaction in me as well. Left me dazed because her hazel eyes shone so bright they pierced my soul.
Natasha licked her lips. “You’re full of adrenaline, aren’t you?”
“Yep.” I tugged her to me. Ready for round two.
“We’re not in hoodies,” she whispered, in between pressing her mouth to mine.
“Did you see the Scots stationed at every park entrance?” I gestured. “We’re more protected than our first date.” I’d rented out a rooftop spot in Los Angeles. No eyes. No cameras—at least not any that didn’t belong to Natasha. But now?
I wanted the cameras. The Pushy Paps. I wanted everyone to know about us.
“Yep. I saw the muscle posted at the fence.” Natasha glanced toward Signal Hill. “Still, this is not Resnov territory.”
“We can make it our territory.” Damn, what was I saying? I had nothing to do with any of our families’ illegal activities. “You ready to play?”
“Yep. Hope you don’t mind. I brought company.”
With her hand in mine, and her cheek against my bicep, we turned around.
Natasha stammered. “Uh-uh, nothim. I mean, I brought Simona.”
“Your cousin,” I confirmed, trying to get the grit out of my tone. Another man strolled next to Jamie across the green. The muscle under my jaw twitched, but instead of dwelling on rage, I let Natasha guide me toward the stoic young woman with a Resnov demeanor.
She had long, blunt-cut hair and smooth, dark brown skin similar to Jordyn’s. Although my sister-in-law had become like a big sister to Natasha, Jordyn was no Resnov, as evidenced by this girl’s emotionless face, which even oversized glasses couldn’t mask.
I smiled and shook Simona’s hand. Tried to appear happy.
My eyes wandered to the park’s edge while I asked Simona about herself.
